Moments of Malevolence (The Hunters Book 1)

HIS TEXT COMES THROUGH, and my body freezes as I see it.

Show me what you look like.

I stare at that text all day.

I’ve lied to him about what I look like because it’s what I had to do. I told him I have blue hair, and that’s obviously not true. Though I have had blue hair in the past, just not right now. Sitting at my table with salad in front of me, I search the internet for the most realistic picture I can find of a woman with blue hair, and then I change the tones of the lighting before I send it to him. Immediately after I click send, I see he’s read the message.

What is he doing?

Does he like what he sees?

And what do I care anyway.

It’s not me.

The last time I saw this man, I ran from him—as far away as I could possibly get—and it’s been weeks since that night. I’ve spoken to him once over the phone, granted he didn’t know it was me, and he spoke about the “real me” to me. It was… interesting.

Zuko is someone I should stay away from.

I know in my mind that it’s a wise decision, but I just can’t seem to get him out of my head.

Not only is he a god with his mouth, but the man also makes my head go crazy with thoughts of him, and a part of me wonders if what he wants to do with me would be enjoyable.

No, that can’t be right.

My mind is playing tricks on me.

Good Lord, he put a knife in my damn pussy!

That is insane.

Fucking crazy.

Deranged.

Who does that? Oh, that’s right, Zuko does.

I put my phone down when he doesn’t respond for a good fifteen minutes, and I wonder what he thinks of her. Is she pretty to him?

But then my phone dings, and when I check it, I suck in a breath.

It seems you are a liar. I wonder what else you are…

How could he know that?

There is no way. He can’t be that tech-savvy, can he?

I grip my phone, push my food away, and stand as I reach for my bag. I’m wearing a long sweater that covers my work outfit, which I pull on the hem of as I leave to head for my night shift. It’s supposed to be a slower night tonight, but that’s what Jeff always says. He’s a fucking liar, and we all know his games.

When I arrive, I head straight for my locker, pull off my jacket, and stash it inside. I slide my phone into the back of my little shorts and after reaching for my boots, I pull them on. I keep them in my locker so I don’t have to walk around in them outside of the bar, unless I’m too lazy and end up taking them home.

“Do you ever fucking listen?” I whip my head around to Sarah, who’s eyeing my outfit.

This feels like déjà-fucking-vu.

Does this bitch need to get a life or what?

“Fuck off, Sarah.”

“You’re a dumb bitch, you know that, right,” she mutters. This idiot thinks she’s in charge because she spreads her legs for Jeff, and thinks she has the upper hand. But no matter what, Jeff won’t fire me, and I am not an idiot. Let’s face it I make more for his damn bar than any of the other girls. Sarah and Louise probably make the same amount, but they both work more hours than I do. I work the bare minimum to earn what I need, and then I’m out.

“I’ll slam your pretty smug face into this locker if I have to. Last warning,” I state, shutting the metal door with a loud bang and turning around to face her. Her black hair is slicked back, and her arms are tucked across her chest, pushing up her god-awful boob job. I warned her not to go cheap but like I said, the girl is an idiot. She’s applied heavy eyeliner that turns up at the edges, giving her a cat eye look and making her already hard face look harder. Paired with bright red lipstick—she looks like a damn whore.

I hate her.

“You’re late…again. Not only that, but Louise is also out there serving your customers.” Her lips pucker as she talks, and it looks like an asshole. Does she ever look in the mirror? Sarah reminds me of someone who has always gotten what they want, and the minute someone else gets more attention, they snap.

I’m that person she wants to snap at, and it seems she is now doing it constantly.

But she also knows it comes with a price.

I won’t just sit here and take her bullshit like some people she knows. I will snap right back and worse.

The next time she touches me without my consent—even a tap on the shoulder—I will slam her head into the locker as hard as I fucking can, and I have zero care factor about what damage I do to that face.

She needs to learn manners, and it seems I was put on her path to teach her some.

Sarah continues to stare at me. Her big white teeth peek through her stained lips when she smirks. God, she gets on my nerves. “Louise can handle them. Now… Fuck off.” I sneer at her as I grab a tray and make my way out.

When I step out into the bar, I see Louise in one of the private booths, but this time it’s not filled with people. There is only one person, and his eyes have already found mine. Louise follows his gaze checking over her shoulder. A small smile takes over her lips and she relaxes her posture in relief when seeing me. She turns back and says something to him before she steps down the stairs and straight to me.

My feet are frozen to the spot.

The last time I saw this man I ran away from him with only a sheet to cover me. And now he is sitting in my workplace, in a booth that costs a small fortune to book, waiting for me to serve him.

“I’m so glad you’re here. He won’t buy anything, and I know he’s waiting on you.” I manage to meet her eyes and nod. She does her usual, stepping into my personal space and wrapping her arms around me as she gives me a quick hug hello. As usual, I don’t reciprocate and as usual it doesn’t bother her. She’s used to that now. “Okay, I’m going to service my own customers now. Let’s chat when you finish.” She runs off as I stay rooted to my spot.

What do I do?

Do I run again? No.

He doesn’t have the upper hand here, I do. Or so I keep telling myself.

I put one foot in front of the other, striding straight past his booth. I feel his eyes burn my body as I pass. I force myself not to look in his direction as I reach the bar and grab some drinks. The bartender waves hello to me, but I can’t seem to do the same back. I’m trying to work out the best course of action and how to deal with the man waiting for me.

Being in and out of foster care all my life, I learned early on how to handle men. The system taught me to depend on no one but myself. I can read people’s body language and work out how to treat them based on their personalities, so harm never falls on me again.

In one of my houses growing up, they drank—a lot.

They used to hit the kids when they were drunk. And at first, I received those blows, and it was frustrating. Until I learned that if I offered them things, little things to help them while they were intoxicated, they didn’t look at me as if I were a punching bag.

It would be as simple as not looking them in the eyes and asking if they want a drink—alcohol, of course. Just helping them as much as possible to view me as a bonus not a burden.

For another family I lived with, it was all in the way you spoke to them. A soft demeanor and a gentle smile would get you food, particularly when it was held back as punishment.

Not all of it was bad.

I was placed with an elderly couple once for about six months. It was the best home I lived in. They cooked every night, and they taught me how to make the best chocolate cake. It’s my best party trick, and I made it at many other foster homes when I needed to get on their good sides.

It’s a good thing too since it’s the only thing I know how to cook.

And it’s saved me many times.

Steeling myself, I turn with the tray and make my way to his table. Taking the few steps I need to, I breathe deeply, trying to gain some equilibrium before I glance at him.

“What can I get you?” I ask, noticing all he has is water. “Whiskey, vodka, gin…” I list off a few choices, but he doesn’t respond. He quietly assesses me with those eyes that haunt my dreams. “If you aren’t drinking, you need to leave,” I tell him.

“I paid for this…” He waves a hand around, stopping when it reaches me.

“It’s a bar! You get that, right?”

“I do.”

“And you don’t drink,” I state.

“No, though somewhere deep inside, it makes me happy you remember that fact.”

I scoff. “Don’t let it go to your head. I remember because I spent all your money.”

“Do you want to be tipped tonight?” he asks.

“What type of question is that? Of course, I do,” I sass, sliding the tray under my arm as I eye him.

“The tip you get will depend on the service, of course.”

“I’m not here to play your games again.” I turn to leave.

“Alaska…” I stop at the sound of my name. My real name. “Turn back around and give me those vexing eyes.”

Sliding my tongue over my teeth, I turn back to him.

He’s leaning forward on the table with a wicked grin on his lips. “Order a bottle of whatever, send it to a table of your choosing, and charge it to me.”

I nod and head to the bar, not stopping to give him an opportunity to speak to me again. When I gain the bartender’s attention, I order the most expensive bottle I can find and charge it to his card on file.

Louise skips over and places her tray next to mine. “What did you say to Sarah? She hasn’t stopped complaining to Jeff about you.” I turn to face her, taking in her bright pink shirt and bouncy hair.

“Sarah can eat my ass,” I reply.

She laughs and shakes her head then changes the subject. “Oh…what are your plans for Christmas? My family wants to meet you; I’ve told them all about you. Are you free, or do you have plans with your family?”

Christmas…

That’s the day I get drunk and watch Home Alone and pass out on my couch.

It’s actually an amazing day and I love it by myself.

“I—”

“No, please come.” She raises her hands in front of her chest in a prayer pose. “Please. Pretty please.”

“Fuck, fine.” I shake my head.

“You are the best! You can bring a date if you want. Or not.” She shrugs. “I’ll have all the wine and sweets you want. Thank you again, Alaska.” She leans up and kisses my cheek before she happily bounces off again—that girl has more energy than the Energizer Bunny.

I’m not sure why I just agreed to changing my own tradition, but now I’m trying to work out how I can also get out of it.

I prefer time alone.

It’s my day.

Louise is great and all, but I like being by myself more.

Does that make me self-centered? Probably, but I couldn’t care less.

Turning back around, I find Zuko sitting in his booth, fiddling with his phone. I watch as Sarah walks up the stairs toward him and wonder what she’s doing. She has on her best fuck-me face, and her hips sway as she walks.

Good, take him.

Maybe you can get fucked with a knife up your pussy too. I giggle at that thought and quickly shake my head, telling myself that’s all kinds of wrong.

Zuko glances up from his phone as Sarah says something to him. She places her hand on her hip, popping it out a little more, as his eyes start to roam. He’s not looking at her though. He’s scanning the bar as if he’s searching for something. And when his gaze stops on me, I know it’s me he is looking for. He raises a brow, and how I see that clearly in this dark bar is beyond me, but my heart skips a beat.

I wonder if I should save him.

Or let him be.